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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356342">I Hope This Finds You Well</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wine_dark_seashells/pseuds/wine_dark_seashells'>wine_dark_seashells</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gender? False [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Everyone Is Gay, Gay, George makes some soup!, M/M, Max is the real chef here but George tries his best, Sickfic, Trans Male Character, soft boi feels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:27:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,019</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356342</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wine_dark_seashells/pseuds/wine_dark_seashells</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Max is sick. George cooks some soup. That's literally it. Just fluff.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maximus Nova/George Reynolds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gender? False [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Hope This Finds You Well</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>as always, please let me know if there's anything wrong. i don't have a beta reader and alas, i am probably human, so i tend to miss things.</p><p>hope you enjoy and have a wonderful gay day!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>George Reynolds let the door swing behind him, hands full with heavy grocery bags. As he turned to close it with his foot, a warm, solid object pressed itself against his back. Smiling, George shifted the bags to one hand, spinning and trapping his boyfriend in a one-armed hug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Max peered sleepily up at him with red eyes, sniffing. George rubbed his back consolingly and herded him into the kitchen. He deposited the bags on the bench and wrapped Max in a comfortable embrace.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s no fun being sick, is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmrph,” mumbled Max.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crappy clock tacked to the wall beeped to signal the hour. George buried his nose in Max’s short hair and just stood there for a second. Max melted further and further into the embrace as George rubbed his back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d love to stand here and cuddle all day, but I didn’t go shopping so the food could sit on the bench.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Max nodded into George’s chest. George shepherded him into a chair, stripping off his own red hoodie and pulling it over Max’s head. Max blinked, hair tousled. George almost giggled at how cute he looked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Retrieving the bags from the counter, George pulled out a collection of bottles, naming them as he went.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sesame oil.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That went into the fridge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tamari” went next to the kettle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“2-Minute Noodles,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Max yawned, jaw almost cracking. George looked at him worriedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can go back to bed if you want, Macki. I’ll wake you up when the soup’s done.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Max shook his head with another yawn. He slumped back into his chair as George sighed and flicked the kettle on. He put the rest of the groceries away - mostly pantry staples like bread, rice, eggs and flour - and rifled through the cupboard for the rest of the ingredients. It took him a second to find the chilli powder, as it was buried in the back of the cupboard. Strange, because both of them really liked spicy food.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ripping open the packet and breaking up the dry noodles inside only took a minute. The noodles went into Max’s special purple bowl, crushed down a bit to fit. George pulled the sesame oil out of the fridge, opening it carefully. Sesame oil all over the floor would not make today any better. The Tamari was next, and George wrestled with the seal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kettle dinged and flicked itself off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George poured the boiling water over the noodles, letting it sit for a bit. He looked back at Max concernedly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, the reason you get sick so often is because of that dingy bedsit you live in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Max nodded sleepily. He probably wasn’t even listening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should just move in with me, really.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah ok- wait what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George smirked, “You should move in with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No! I couldn’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Max floundered, stuttering, trying to find a reason. He paused, sneezed loudly and shrugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- I’ll be a burden.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No you won’t. If you want you can help pay towards rent, but I’m pretty comfortable here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Max frowned, slumping back in his chair. He opened his mouth - and sneezed violently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re too sick to be arguing about this right now, Macki.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George turned back around, ripping open the flavour sachet and tipping it into the almost cooked noodles. Picking up the sesame oil, he poured in a few drops, being careful not to add too much. Too much sesame oil would completely ruin it. The Tamari went in next, and George took a second to stir the soup.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How spicy do you want this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very,” Max said with another yawn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George grinned, shaking in some chilli powder. A rattle on the window distracted him and George glared as a black cat rubbed it’s head against the glass pane.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Careful</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he mouthed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I just had that replaced.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat, unsurprisingly, didn’t react. It butted its head against the glass again, blinked it’s milky eyes and leapt away. George shook his head, bemused. The cat had been showing up a lot lately, usually around Max, who’d taken to arguing playfully with it. It made for an entertaining couple of minutes. George smiled at the memories. </span>
  <span>Strangely, as the cat leapt away, a shadow was left behind. George didn’t think much of it; it was a shady corner and he’d never believed cats were one-hundred percent in the physical plane, either. How on earth could something that good at disappearing be completely physical? Plus, his flat had always had a bit of a weird aura about it. Max had smirked knowingly when they’d bought it, not bothering to explain. Shadows in places they shouldn’t be were the least of George’s concerns, anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head to clear the memories, George fished a lime out of the bag and grabbed a knife from the drawer. Slicing it in half, he squeezed some juice into the bowl. He gave the soup a quick stir and carried it over to the table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Max?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was asleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George smiled softly. He put the soup back on the bench and faced Max again. It was all too easy to pick him up and George frowned at his lack of weight. It was that awful apartment of his. Calling it an apartment was being generous. It was barely three rooms, damp and full of cracks and holes. Even worse, he’d been banned from playing his records by the other tenants of the block. Max needed his music.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The LPs had been a gift from Max’s late godfather, mostly opera and classical with a few jazz records mixed in. He loved his records and listened to them almost every day. His godfather had been most of what had inspired him to pursue a career working with horses. The records were one of the only things Max had to remember the man. Not being able to play them had made Max sink further into depression. It would do him a lot of good to move in with George.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carrying Max into the small bedroom, George tucked him gently into bed. Max needed to sleep. The soup could wait.</span>
</p>
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